


a pair of scissors

by birdjay



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Hair, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve cuts Bucky's hair, bucky calls steve an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:37:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdjay/pseuds/birdjay
Summary: Bucky's hair almost gets in the way of saving Steve. It's gotta go, today. Right this second, preferably.





	a pair of scissors

Bucky threw the door to the locker room open with his shoulder, twisting at the last second to grab Steve by the straps of his shield harness. He tightened his grip, and lifted all 240 pounds of super soldier a few inches of the ground. Bucky shoved Steve up against a wall, held him there, scowling at him. His metal arm whirred with the abrupt strain, calibrating by shifting all the plates up and down, then down and up.

"What the ever-livin' fuck is wrong with you?" Bucky asked, growling through his lank hair. It had broken out of the hair tie he'd used to hold it back about five minutes into the mission. He'd barely made the shot because of the wind whipping it right into his vision. Bucky shook Steve against the wall, for good measure.

Steve blinked at him through half swollen eyes. His cheek looked like it might be broken. Again. "Buck?" He asked, gently laying his hands on Bucky's wrists.

"You. Aren't. Fucking. Bullet. Proof!" Bucky shouted, taking care to enunciate carefully. He slammed Steve into the wall with each word, too, just in case it would help the message sink in a little further. Bucky released his grip on Steve's harness, and stomped a few feet away, breathing heavily. "That's, what, the millionth goddamned time I've had to shoot someone about to shoot you?"

Steve barely caught himself on his feet, sliding down the wall an inch or two. He shoved off it with his shoulders, wobbling slightly. "I thought you had my six?" He offered, sheepishly. He made it the few feet to Bucky, and laid a hand on his shoulder. Bucky whirled away from him.

"Of fuckin' course I got your goddamn six," Bucky said, mostly under his breath. He'd have Steve's six until the day he died. Again. "But..." He started, viciously shaking his head. "I almost didn't make the shot."

"But you did, so what's the big deal?" Steve asked, slowly peeling off the top half of his uniform. Dried blood was clearly making it difficult.

Bucky flung himself towards Steve, shoving a flesh finger into his shoulder, hard. "I hit him in the shoulder, Stevie," He snarled. "When have I ever aimed for the fuckin' shoulder?" Bucky poked a finger at his own forehead, tapping it once, twice. "I was aimin' for his goddamned HEAD."

"Oh," Steve said, pausing in his ministrations. He looked up, blue eyes bright against a face swollen and bloodied. Bucky's heart skipped. At that moment, he could clearly see two Steves overlapped, one on top of the other. One skinny 90 pound punk, and a broad, muscly 240 pound asshole. _His_ Steves. He blinked, and the 90 pound punk disappeared, leaving the battered and bruised asshole behind. "So what happened?"

"This fucking..." Bucky said, grabbing fistfuls of hair and shaking it. It was all coming off today. No fucking questions. He hated anyone going near his head with anything sharp or noisy due to... _things_. But he'd missed an easy shot. Steve could have _died_ because of him missing that shot. He'd cut his hair if he had to do by himself with shaking hands and safety scissors. "The wind..." He added, dropping his hands to his sides.

"What happened to the elastic you had?" Steve asked, ripping at the Velcro and fasteners on his chest.

"It broke," Bucky said, furious. They all fucking broke eventually. Most made it through missions in tact only to be torn in two by him trying to get them out of his hair after everything was over. There was probably a small landfill somewhere full of his destroyed hair ties.

Steve succeeded in getting the top half of the spangly uniform off, letting it hang behind on his waist. Bucky stared at him, momentarily struck silent by the sight of all that skin. Then, his eyes actually focused. There was a long, thin cut from Steve's collarbone all the way down to his navel, bleeding sluggishly. Bucky met his eyes, and then stared at the cut, and then looked back up at Steve's face. He shook his head.

"Med kit. _Now,_ " Bucky said, pointing.

"It's fine. It'll heal on its own," Steve said, resolutely staying put, and kicking off his boots. They hit a row of metal lockers with a loud CLANG, and bounced off.

"It's not fuckin' fine! It's still bleeding!" Bucky said, outraged. He seized hold of Steve's arm, dragged him into the elevator, and up to their apartment. There was a med kit in the locker room, but he didn't like to use it. He much preferred the one he'd put together himself for their personal use, and not just because the medications it contained were approved for super soldiers. He liked knowing exactly what was inside it, what each item was used for, and that he'd vetted everything himself.

Bucky stomped them both into the bathroom, flicked the light on, and shoved at Steve until he sat on the toilet. Steve groaned, long suffering, but lowered himself to the seat. "You really don't have to do anything, Buck. It'll close on its own by tonight." Steve said, even as he shifted himself, tilting his chest towards the light over the sink so Bucky could see better.

"Just let me," Bucky said, digging in the cabinet under the sink for the kit. He yanked it out, spilling bottles of various creams and lotions on to the floor. He ignored them, and lifted the bright red container to the sink. Bucky looked over, and sighed. "Please?" He asked, voice soft.

"Alright," Steve said, with a small smile. It fit his swollen face oddly. "Do your worst."

Bucky flicked the latches open, and flipped the kit's lid up. It was organized as neatly as possible, making it easier to find things exactly when they were needed. He pulled at a packet of sanitized gauze, and removed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, setting them on the counter with care. Bucky put the kit back on the floor, giving himself more room to work with.

He paused, and turned back to the sink. He couldn't bitch at Steve about his wound if he didn't take appropriate care himself. He scrubbed his hands under blisteringly hot water, with a pump of whatever soap was sitting on the counter. Once Bucky was reasonably certain they were clean, he leaned over Steve, and pressed his flesh hand against his skin.

"You don't need stitches," He announced, after staring at the wound for a moment. The bleeding had slowed to barely a trickle, bright red spots slowly appearing along the cut the longer he looked.

"I told you I -- "

"But it needs to be cleaned," Bucky said, right over the end of Steve's sentence. He reached for the antiseptic and gauze pad.

"I can't actually catch anything so..." Steve mumbled, eyeing Bucky's hands.

"Do y'know that for fuckin' sure? Or are you guessing?" Bucky asked, raising his eyes to Steve's once more. But, even if he was guessing, it was an educated guess. Neither one of them had gotten even a hint of an infection or illness since they'd been given their versions of the super soldier serum.

It had been a miracle for Steve, sickly since birth.

It had been cruel for Bucky, who'd wanted to die in peace.

Steve rolled his eyes, but let Bucky take care of him. Bucky wiped the antiseptic on Steve's wound, keeping his metal hand on his shoulder to steady himself. He was careful to rid the cut of any possible lingering bacteria or dirt, rubbing the wound hard. It had to sting, but Steve remained silent, staring at a point on the wall behind him. Bucky finished after a minute or two, chucking the dirty gauze towards the trash can next to the toilet, and regretfully pulling his hand away.

"Alright," Bucky said, leaning back out of Steve's personal space. He stared down at him, with a slight frown. Steve still looked beat to hell, but most of the small hurts were just that -- small. There were bruises or scrapes that needed no extra attention. His eyes were swollen from the beating he'd taken, but all Bucky could do for that was give him an ice pack that he'd refuse to take. The cheek though...that looked worrying. "That actually broken, or just bruised?" He asked, pointing towards Steve's face.

Steve shrugged, reaching one hand up to gently press fingers to his own cheek. "I don't think it's broken."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Your femur could be stickin' outta your leg, and you wouldn't think it was broken," He said, with a scoff. He raised his hand slowly, telegraphing his intent, and reached towards Steve's face. Bucky touched the growing bruise softly, waiting for a sudden intake of breath, or a groan of pain. When there was nothing, he let his hand drop. "You're right, _for once_. I don't think it's broken."

Steve stood, pulling himself up to his full height. "Thanks, Buck," He murmured, setting his hand on Bucky's good shoulder. "I'll clean up. You should -- "

"Do we have any scissors?" Bucky asked, interrupting again.

"Uh..." Steve started, giving him an odd look. "In the kitchen. Why?"

"Hair," Bucky replied, turning and stomping off without another word. Steve snatched at his hand, yanking him back into the bathroom. Bucky tumbled backward, hitting the super soldier chest behind him like a brick wall. He quickly righted himself, glaring at Steve.

"Can you wait five goddamned minutes?" Steve said, angry. "Let me shower, and change at the very least, and then _I'll help you_."

Bucky let his head fall backwards, and stared at the ceiling. He hated when he had to admit to someone that he couldn't do something. He _especially_ hated it when that someone was Steve, who treated him (for some goddamned reason) like he had personally put the moon in the sky. "I don't know if you can," Bucky started, still staring upwards, avoiding Steve's eyes. "I don't know if I can  _let you_ ," he said, frustrated with himself.

Steve ran a hand up Bucky's arm, and squeezed near his elbow. "Won't know until we try, right?"

"Yeah," Bucky replied, with a shallow nod. His hair swung into his face again. He batted it aside, angrily.

"Okay then," Steve said, squeezing his elbow again. He let his hand drop, and pressed it between Bucky's shoulder blades, and pushed. "Now, get out, so I can shower," Steve added, with a hint of laughter.

Bucky stepped out of the bathroom, flipping Steve the bird as he left. He didn't go far, simply moving to the side, and sliding down the wall to sit against it. He didn't trust himself to go any further. His fingers were itching with the need to chop all his hair off. If it came to it, he'd hack it away with a knife. Whatever it took so it didn't hang in his eyes ever again.

True to his word, Steve came out of the bathroom five minutes later, wrapped in nothing but a towel. His skin was bright pink from the scalding shower, and his hair was sticking up at odd ends from being toweled off. He looked confused for a moment, peering around the apartment. When Steve finally caught sight of Bucky against the wall, he sighed. "That bad, Buck?" He asked, not expecting an answer. He nodded, mostly to himself, and then said, "Lemme get dressed, okay? I'll be right back."

He padded off, then, leaving Bucky where he was. Bucky admired the spread of his shoulders as he left, eyes drifting slowly down his spine, and then back up. He told himself, repeatedly, that he was allowed to look  _only_ when Steve couldn't see. Steve was his best friend. His only friend, really, but who was counting? He wasn't going to betray that trust by ogling him openly.

Steve didn't feel the same way. There was no way he did, so Bucky held his little secret close and tight to his chest, only bringing it out when no one else was around. He'd loved Steve from the moment he'd picked him up off the ground, bleeding and bruised, when they were seven years old. Bucky just hadn't realized that's what it was until much later.

It had taken seeing little Rosie Baker chastely kissing Steve one night when they were nineteen for the green monster of jealousy to raise its ugly head in Bucky's stomach. He stomped home alone that night, kicking trash cans as he went, beyond frustrated with himself. He'd been trying for months to get Steve a date, and the one night a girl actually agreed to go out with him, Bucky left early. Once Steve had gotten home, he'd berated him until he was breathless, furious with Bucky.

Bucky sighed, and let his head knock back against the wall. Steve didn't want him the way Bucky did. He wasn't going to ruin the best friendship of his life over something as ridiculous as unrequited love. He'd just shove all thoughts deep down, and hide them away from ever seeing the light of day.

Steve meandered out of his bedroom wearing a pair of sweatpants, and a grey t-shirt that was several sizes too small for him. It was visibly straining against the width of his chest. The man had no idea what size he really wore. not that Bucky was complaining. "Ready?" Steve asked, holding a hand out towards him. Bucky took it and hauled himself to his feet.

"I guess?" He said, unsure. The righteous anger he'd felt earlier had disappeared with the knowledge that someone was going to be coming near his face with a pointy tool. Sure, it was Steve, but _still_.

Steve smiled, and patted him on the back. "We'll find out." He left for a moment, disappearing into the kitchen, and reappearing with a pair of orange handled scissors. Bucky's stomach twisted. They looked very sharp. "Let's do this in the bathroom so I can just sweep up whatever we cut off, okay?" Steve murmured, stepping back into the bathroom.

Bucky followed, sitting carefully on the edge of the toilet seat, fingers gripping the sides.

"Now, how do you want it cut? I'm not...I don't really know what I'm doing," Steve said, with an apologetic look. He held the scissors in front of him, and shrugged. "So, I'm sorry if you end up lopsided."

Bucky glanced up at him, and shrugged right back. It didn't matter if it was crooked, as long as it was out of his eyes. "I guess...how it used to be?" Flicking a hand up the side of his head, and then back. Muscle memory he didn't know he still had of fixing his hair before the war.

Steve made a face, clearly doubting his abilities. He held the scissors up, and slowly brought them to the side of Bucky's face, and then paused. "Just tell me to stop, and I will, alright, Buck?"

Bucky raised his eyes, met Steve's brilliant blue ones, and nodded firmly. "Just start, Steve," He said, tightening his grip on the toilet seat lid. His knuckles turned faintly white with effort. He fixed his vision on a spot on the tile beyond Steve, and stared at it. Maybe if he just...turned off. Let his brain go blank, he'd be able to get through this okay.

There was some part of him, deep down, that was glad that Steve was the one doing this. If there was one person on this entire planet he knew he could trust to keep him alive, even at the cost of their own life, it would be Steve. He knew his best friend would never hurt him, not in a million years. He knew that, and yet, his fingers were starting to dig into the plastic of the toilet seat lid. He'd probably break it before Steve had even gotten halfway through his hair.

This was all just PTSD. This was the side effect of 70 years of brainwashing and being frozen over and over. Of being treated like an object, like a thing. He'd had his brains scrambled by a torture artist, and then was sent out to kill whoever and whatever they pointed him at. Bucky was fully and consciously aware of all of that, but it didn't make this whole situation any easier for him.

Actually, it probably just made it all the harder. He shoved the thoughts of his life before he broke conditioning out of his mind.

"Can you..." Bucky started, dragging his eyes up from the spot he'd been staring at on the wall. He forced himself to look at Steve. If he was going to ask Steve to do this for him, the very least he could do was meet his eyes while doing so. "Talk? While doing this? To distract me?"

Steve looked back down, and blinked once, considering the request for all of a half-second. "Absolutely," he said, with a nod. He raised the scissors again, and grabbed a chunk of hair. Steve began to cut, while simultaneously starting a one-sided conversation. "Do you remember -- it's okay if you don't -- when we were eight, you decided we needed to see the sunset from the highest point we could get?" Steve paused, checking his work by tilting his head to the left, and then to the right. He tugged on some of Bucky's hair, trying to figure out how long it was compared to the other side.

"Y'were determined to get to the roof of your buildin'. In case y'don't remember -- your buildin' was like...six or seven stories tall, with no roof access. That didn't stop you even once. You were comin' up with all sorts of ways to get up there: rock climbin' gear, ropes, jumpin' from the buildin' next door, whatever you could think of." Steve kept cutting, strands of Bucky's hair falling to the floor like feathers. Bucky kept his eyes fixed on Steve's face, mesmerized by the way it contorted while he spoke. "After some thinkin' we realized we couldn't afford climbin gear, and jumpin' was too dangerous. So y'conned Billy O'Reilly down the street outta some rope, and that was that." Steve stopped again, and tugged on another strand of hair, staring at it, for a few moments before continuing.

"I was stupid enough to follow you anywhere, so there I was toddlin' along behind you, watchin' you attempt this great feat of climbin' and tryin' to do it myself." Steve continued, with half a laugh. He shifted positions, and gently tapped Bucky's chin to get him to turn his head. Bucky did, losing sight of his spot on the wall, but he picked a new one by the door. Steve was working quickly now, large chunks of hair drifting downwards towards the floor or Bucky's lap. "So there we were, about...mmm...a quarter-way up the buildin' usin' a rope, when your mom found us." He paused, and laughed fully. "I'd never seen anyone turn that red that fast before. She dragged us inside by our ears, shoutin' the whole time about how you were an idiot, and gonna get me killed."

Surprising even himself, a small laugh escaped from Bucky's mouth. He really didn't remember this happening, but he could see himself attempting what Steve was saying. He'd been more than a little bit stupid as a kid. They both had. At the mention of his mother, the memory of her came rushing back, swamping him with the way she'd smelled, the way her hands had felt as she'd tugged or hugged or smacked him. Winne Barnes hadn't been afraid of anyone or anything, and he'd loved her immensely for it. "She wasn't wrong," he said after a moment, sounding sad.

Steve whacked him lightly on the head with the palm of his hand. "Y'didn't get me killed. I got myself killed, and look, it didn't stick," He said, sounding tired of the argument they'd had a million times since they'd reunited. "Anyways," Steve started up again, the soft _snip-snip_ of scissors echoing in Bucky's ears. He squinted his eyes shut, focusing on the sound of his best friend's voice. It had shifted from his today-voice into one that he hadn't heard for seventy-odd years. Brooklyn, through and through. "Your mom shouted at us for like...six hours, or at least it felt like it at the time. But at the end of her screamin', she told us that  _my_ buildin' had roof access, and that it was  _ten_ stories tall."

Bucky snorted.

"So after all that," Steve said, laughing much harder now, "we could have just gone to my buildin', and climbed some goddamned stairs." He finished up with another soft cut behind Bucky's left ear, and then stood back to admire his work. Bucky stared up at him, hands still gripping the toilet seat lid with all their strength.

"How's...how's it look?" Bucky asked, not really caring about the answer, but still wanting to hear what Steve thought. His hair no longer hung in his eyes, and that's all Bucky had wanted. With a little pomade, he could be sure it would stay out of his vision for as long as he needed. His head felt considerably lighter too, which was an added bonus. Bucky swung his head around, testing out the way everything felt with shorter hair. Once he was done, he glanced back at Steve.

Steve was staring at him. Bucky stared back, and then repeated the motion he'd done earlier -- hand up and back over his hair to fix it. Steve went pale, and looked away, swallowing. "Um..." He said, to the shower stall. "It looks good. Y-you look good," He added, turning his head back towards Bucky at the last second. Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him, and Steve shut his eyes.

What the hell?

He stood, ignoring Steve for the moment, and brushed the remnants of his hair off his clothes onto the floor. Bucky took two steps to the side to reach the sink, and the mirror above it. He glanced into it, and then did a double take. It was like looking through a hole in time. That was his face, that was how he'd looked all those years ago. He was older, but that was him. Sargent James Buchanan Barnes, 32557038.

"I look like me," Bucky said, after a moment.

"Yeah," Steve said, quietly.

"You did a good job," Bucky added, turning away from the mirror to look back at Steve, who was watching him intently. "Thank you, Stevie," Bucky mumbled, with a small smile. He'd never be able to repay Steve for this.

Steve raised one shoulder, and then let it drop. "You..." He started, and then strangely, turned pink. "You look good," He repeated, looking embarrassed.

"You said that already," Bucky said, looking confused.

"I don't know how to," Steve said, frustrated. He picked his hands up, only to let them fall back to his sides a moment later. He was quiet, and clearly arguing with himself mentally. Bucky waited patiently for him to figure it out, and was rewarded a moment later when Steve asked, "D'you remember when we were younger, and I'd draw you all the time?"

"Yeah, it used to irritate the fuck outta me 'cause you'd always tell me to sit still," Bucky answered, wondering where this was going.

Steve laughed for a split second, before forcing himself to continue. "Okay, well, you look...like you did, back then. I can see the lines of your face again, the lines that I...well, that I loved," Steve answered, going much, much more pink.

Bucky watched, fascinated. He had thought Steve had drawn him all the time just because he'd had a very small choice of subjects. Bucky, or Bucky's sisters, and they were all but impossible to keep from moving. Had there been another reason? The _best_ possible reason? He waited, his stomach slowly flipping over in hope.

Steve closed the space between them with two steps, and raised a hand to Bucky's face, running the tips of his fingers along his cheekbone. He dipped down towards his jaw, and slid his hand up that line, before letting his hand drop. "I used to draw you over and over," Steve whispered. "I could have drawn you blindfolded, by feel alone," He added, shutting his eyes for a split second. "I probably still could," He admitted, his blush traveling down his neck now.

"What are y'sayin', Stevie?" Bucky asked, the torture of not knowing finally forcing him to say something.

"I'm sayin'," He paused, putting his hand back against Bucky's cheek. "I'm sayin' I used to draw you all the time because I loved you." Steve's thumb ran across his skin, soft. "Wasn't it obvious? I had the perfect excuse to stare at you, whenever I wanted. But you, you never questioned it."

"No," Bucky answered, eyes wide. Steve had loved him at one point. Maybe he didn't anymore, but that was okay. He could hold on to that knowledge for as long as he lived. "Why would I? You never...there was never any hint that you felt the same way I did. So I tried not to feel that way, so I could stay around you." He spluttered, this new revelation making it hard to concentrate properly.

"So you did!" Steve said, with a wide smile. "I always wondered..." He paused, looking away for a moment, before coming back to Bucky. He looked curious again, like he was testing the waters before fully diving in. "Do you still?"

Bucky pressed his face into Steve's warm hand for a moment, and then leaned forward to fit their mouths together. He felt Steve startle, and then relax. His first kiss in over seventy years was with the one person he'd loved entire life. Bucky felt it all the way down to his toes.

He pulled away first so he could actually answer Steve's question. Bucky smiled, and said as sure as he'd ever been, "How could I not?"

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I happily dedicate this to my friend, [wishingwell44](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingwell44). Go read her work and tell her how wonderful she is.
> 
> find me at [dreamwidth](https://birdjay.dreamwidth.org/) or [tumblr](http://drclairefraser.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/humdrumvee).


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